The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT TWO: You own a devoted fuck slave twenty-four hours of every day. How are you keeping her active and engaged?

Did you leave her at home? If you ordered her to kneel, facing the door, until you return and she sucks your cock, does she have permission to use the restroom? Is she allowed to drink water? Can she do housework, or even masturbate? While you are home, is she supposed to just stare at you, waiting for your next order?

It is your R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y to provide enrichment and entertainment to your slut.

Sit down and make a schedule. When is she cooking and cleaning for you? When is she servicing you? And after all that—what hobbies can she have? Cat’s Cradles? Sewing? Baking? Singing? Dancing?

Their t session was short.

“You are here because people care about you, because you care about each other, and you are figuring out how that works around a viral sex compulsion” Cy said.

“Listen to the big oaf,” Saph said.

She was short, with incredible hair. It was rings upon rings, each ring a glinting golden display. It was obviously fake—she had a tinge of brown at the roots—which just made the effort that went into it more amazing. Saph had to spend half her life brushing and curling. She rested her hand on Cy’s shoulder.

“So we’re going to learn a lot about each other, about navigating these waters, but I don’t want anyone to lose track of the basic fact of caring.” Cy said. He reached up, grabbed Saph’s shirt and pulled her down for a rough kiss.

Cy was unshaven, and had—Cass practiced her male negativity—one of those flabby faces that weren’t fixed to anything. That could go on any skull. He was fairly tall, with big shoulders, and had to tilt his head for Saph to kiss him. The kiss was deeply ionate, and certain to rub off all the expensive lipstick Saph had on. Her hair perfectly framed the exchange. He wore a very cheap blazer with patches on the elbows, and a black t-shirt.

When the kiss was over, Saph looked him in the eye and said: “you’re a lousy kisser, Cy. You’re a fat, ugly liar and I can’t believe my entire life is yours. I can’t believe I have to crawl around for a nobody in a strip mall storefront like you.”

The three girls in the class all gasped. It was—unheard of. Impossible, even, that kind of outright hostility. Saph should be doubled over, pained, if not outright ed out. Even with all her training, the most that Cass could it was that being totally subjected to male whims was kind of a drag.

“This is what a good partnership looks like,” Saph told them. “Alright. Cy? How’s your ego?”

“Bruised, Saph.” He looked at her with—yes—it had to be real—it couldn’t possibly be feigned—affection. Even after getting told off. Affection, and fondness!

The youtube videos had said, don’t try for this. Don’t look for tenderness and sentiment. There’s none forthcoming, from these men. You are their property and it is too hard to love property. Live in a world of boundaries and safe spaces, because wanting to be loved by a man is sad. It was always a little sad. Now it was very sad.

But...

“Boys, with me. Girls, listen to Saph,” Cy said, and led the men off. They had two rooms in an outlet strip mall, formerly a taekwondo studio. The gym mats were still stacked along the wall. There wasn’t even a new sign—it still read BLACK BELT TAEKWONDO! on an unlit sign. They were between a defunct pizza place and a defunct Subway.

This began Safely Coupling, an intensive two week course.

“Who here has been watching Alone Together?” Saph said. She wore a baggie hoodie and short volleyball shorts.

All three girls raised their hands. It was THE resource for girls fighting their own enslavement. The courses, the trainings, and the daily videos just to reaffirm there were others like you still out there.

Cass watched it every day. It was her main enrichment activity.

“Forget it,” Saph said. “It’s fantasy. It’s the worst. I am here mostly to tell you to forget that crap.”

Bella snorted.

She’d walked in armored to the very hilt, and bristled with chains. The Slipknot t-shirt anchored an array of dark black apparel items, as well as completely black lipstick. Not burgundy, or even dark with a very slight hint of red. Black. All black. She was probably already pale before she’d dusted her skin porcelain. The fact that she was white and blonde made it that much more dramatic. Her partner, Jules, had followed in her substantial shadow, and wore a button-down linen shirt.

“Why?” Melody said, much more mildly. She was even shorter than Saph. She was asian, and she wore oversized round glasses. She wore her hair very short. It was a very successfully androgynous look. Her plan seemed to be to hide even her gender with her own partner, Hao, who had similar glasses and had barely more of a jawline.

And yet the virus had known—Cass had looked at Melody and felt nothing, and looked at Hao and felt a tug of inevitably subservience.

“Because YOU, girls, girlies, are going to live in the world, this actual world, where we all have Submission viruses wired into us, puppeting us around, making our decisions,” Saph said. She posed, robotically, for emphasis. Bella laughed. “And NOW you’re going to be living with MEN. You are going to want to obey these men. You are going to want to serve these men. You are going to be pathetically excited if they tell you you’re a good girl.”

“I’m not a good girl,” Bella said, emphatically. “I break things just to like, keep it real.”

Cass had watched the Alone Together video on “good girl” many times. It was the most dangerous of all phrases. When she got weak, and masturbated in the shower, it hummed through her, lighting her on fire, and—

“The Alone Together method is to hope you luck into some guy who leaves you alone in a room. That’s it, that’s the strategy,” Saph said. “It’s for girls who have apologetic fathers and lots of money.”

Daddies, Cass thought.

“And now you’re living with actual, virile young men with needs, and you are going to have to service those needs. You’d like to do so without becoming a re-named simpering slut. Am I right?”

The girls didn’t say anything.

“Do you want to be named Blowjob and sleep on the floor?” Saph said.

“No,” Bella said, quietly.

“Do you want to only get underpants as a privilege, not a right?”

“No,” the girls said, together this time.

“I can’t hear you!” Saph said.

“NO!” the girls chorused.

“Then you are going to LISTEN during our intensive two-week course!” Saph barked, and prowled through the room. Her ringlets shone underneath the lights. She held her hands up to her ears. “Welcome to the outside, girls! You’re going to have to get your pussies wet! You might have to suck a little dick! It’s not a nice world out there! Do you want to be OWNED, or do you want to be CHERISHED?”

“CHERISHED!” Bella and Melody and Cass screamed.

All three looked at the door, where their partners had gone. What if they came out to check at the noise?

Cass, of course, had screamed with personal reservations. Princess in a tower still sounded pretty good, and Owen had already offered. But... cherished.

It couldn’t hurt to learn something.

“Good!” Saph said. She clapped her hands together. “Now! The Alone Together method is to have so little personality that there’s nothing to erase. The SAPH method is to have so much fucking personality your men can’t help but love it. If you don’t want to be a dollie he puts in little dresses, you gotta at least offer him an alternative! Now, who knows how to SCREAM?”

Afterwards they stood around outside and waited for their men.

Assertiveness Training had been a very different experience for each of the three girls. They’d only had an hour, so it was mostly about how to yell. Be a loud and brassy woman. They’d also done a little practice strutting.

Cass couldn’t help but notice that it was a very feminine type of assertiveness. A femme fatale type of forwardness. When Saph walked her hips did most of the work. She swung them around, her rear end commanding local air space. Even so she put one foot carefully in front of the other, and even though she wore sneakers, she had high heel mentality. Her actual heels rarely touched the ground. So most of the assertion was about having an ass and saying ‘hey, look at this ass.’

It was impressive that it worked—Saph was skinny, for a Submission girl. They tended to be thick. Feminine curves for the men to enjoy.

“Well, hi,” Cass told her other ladies. She smiled at them, genuinely. “Look at us, girls in post-high school education!”

It went against everything that Alone Together had taught, but it had been... good... to listen to Saph. She was a girl who had kept her personality and bagged the right kind of man. That counted for something. If the secret was walking with your tush out, and being loud, Cass was prepared to accept that.

Cherished. She hadn’t even thought the word for a long time.

“Us,” Owen had said, during the date, and it had clearly been the first time he’d thought of it. They were an Us. Owen and Cass.

And what was Cass, Cass thought. Well, she’d told of Owen, the moment he’d reached out to her. That was apparently Cass. She’d tried to channel the witch of the hill, and it had come out the bitch of the car.

“Easy stuff,” Bella said. She definitely didn’t wash her hair very often, if at all. It was rank and ragged, with whorls and outright knots. She wore a red headband. “I hope every class is yelling stuff. This is good. I hope we work our way up from yelling to kidney strikes to garroting. We’re going to be a team of girl assassins.”

“Oh no,” Melody said, dismayed. Her voice was hoarse. As a practical matter, Assertiveness Training was 1% for Bella, 9% for Cass, and 90% Melody. Melody didn’t know how to yell anything. She somehow managed to turn a simple FUCK YOU into a question. Her voice quavered. “Girl assassins?”

“You can be our unseen, urbane handler,” Cass said.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Melody said. She sighed, relieved. “I’ll be the computers person. Perfect.”

“Murderer, computers—” Bella pointed at Cass and raised an eyebrow. It was as shaggy as the rest of her.

“I don’t... know,” Cass said. “Computers person is taken, huh?”

“Better be demolitions, unless you want to be the Honeypot,” Bella said. She crossed her arms. “One of us will be. There’s no way all three of these boys are gonna be respectful of, you know...” she scratched her hair again. “...having a personality and independent identity. Stuff like that. Someone is going to go full leash and collar.”

They stood quietly. Bella was too brash to be reduced to objecthood, and Melody was carefully camouflaged in androgny. Whereas she...

She had big tits, and Owen had really liked looking at them...

“I guess I better learn some stuff about C-4,” Cass said. She looked towards the door. “What’re they doing in there?” What were the BOYS learning? Why did a boy have to learn anything? They could just order a girl to do it.

“FUCK YOU!” A male voice—and Cass watched the other two girls come to attention. Straining to hear, to know—which voice was that? Was it THEIR man? Or some other man? They were rigid with alertness. Cass knew right away whose it was—Owen. She’d heard him yell many times, during band.

It was just, now, it made her pussy tingle, a lot. She could walk towards him, her butt swaying. “Us” hammered in her head, but at least she recognized it as the virus talking. Owen and Cass.

The three boys spilled out of the storefront. They’d bonded immediately. Cass automatically evaluated and ranked them as men. Owen was the tallest one. Jules had the nicest outfit—he was very well dressed, with a perfect light dusting for a beard. Hao was sweating hard, and that was very attractive in a male, these days. Sweaty men were a delight to girls. But hers was the tallest one. Tingle tingle, juice juice.

Not “hers”, Cass reminded herself. She felt—torn. She’d learned a lot via youtube videos about blending into backgrounds and, when necessary, outright running away from men, before their honeyed words could turn her into something hot and fun. And now, per Saph, she was supposed to cock her hips, square up on her man, and say:

“FUCK YOU!” she managed it.

Right back at him. Just like how Saph said it, and it only afterwards occurred to Cass how soft, and crooning, and feminine she made it sound. Almost like singing. It came out naturally from Saph, who was designed with a twang. From Cass, to Owen, it just sounded... girlish. She was a soprano, and she was engaged in call and response with her man. No. Not her man. There was no ‘Us’, that had been in error. He was her knight, and she lived in a distant tower. He had to be satisfied looking up at it, from time to time.

Her head swirled. Luckily, the videos covered this too. Girl Confusion was an early warning sign. Attraction and obedience and response to male scent. Run, the videos counseled. Don’t stand there and smell him.

“Ladies,” Jules said, respectfully. “I see you also underwent Assertiveness Training.” He hovered behind his disheveled, unwashed fiancee. Bella had gotten very quiet. There was no sign that she was about to become a deadly assassin of men. She had her arms crossed and had her eyes on the ground. She rubbed her big boots against one another. Melody had her mouth open, and wasn’t saying anything. She was obviously having a strong reaction to male pheromones.

“We were stalking around, shouting things,” Cass said. Owen had also come to stand right behind her. All three men were behind their women. A protective position. She fought back an urge to lean back, see exactly where on his broad chest her head would hit. Not that high. “We’re supposed to have huge personalities. Too big to fail. So you can be like, oh, good, this is what I want.”

“WE...” Owen said, and his voice was pitched so very low. It rippled through Cass from behind. How was it she had so many bits that could be excited? Between her legs, her butt, both tits, generally and especially the nipples. Not only that, her face got hot and her thighs—her thighs!—quivered with anticipation. And she had a lot of thighs. It was like 50% of her body, getting warm and wet. “...also did assertiveness training. Cy called it Rustling Training. It’s basically about treating other men like bears who want to steal your honey.”

“Honeys,” Hao said. It was his first time talking. Unlike her man his voice was a light tenor. Too bad for Melody, Cass thought. Although Melody was drinking in his sweaty scent, and seemed dazed.

“Yeah. Cattle rustlers. You gotta make yourself big. That kind of thing. Cy said if its a real fight, tell the guy’s girls to run in all directions. Fucking wild. And you have more personality now, huh? That’s cool.”

“Did you learn anything about... relationships?” Cass said.

The boys looked at each other.

“I guess in the sense of, its hard to have a relationship if your girls get stolen. Maybe actually having a relationship, that’s the next class.”

Cass thought: this is concerning. We aren’t cattle. We’re people. The rustling line of thinking leads to leashes, gates, collars, and brands. You should be our knights in shining armor, if we must be fragile princesses. Or birds that sing you beautiful songs from our gilded cages. But: cattle? Cows that get rustled? Meaty girls that can be easily taken, following any cowboy who has a feedbag and a voice. Or a voice.

She thought about the dog bowl, on the floor. Her Mom’s dog bowl. Why had Owen brought that up? Her butt up in the air as she drank. Sometimes she heard noises, pleased noises, that her Mom made when Daddy was—

“Rustlers,” Melody said, with contempt in her voice. Contempt, for men! True, they were describing slavers, and their men had given them tacit permission to view the concept with disapproval, but... “You should tell their girls to be independent, modern women who don’t need orders. See what happens.”

“Tell ’em, Elephant,” Hao said, nodding, and from the fact this didn’t cause a reaction, “elephant” had to be a term of affection. Somehow.

“Well. If we do that, they’ll... fuzz out,” Jules said. “That’s a brown out for sure. I’m not sure we can handle YOU girls. We could hear you yelling in there.”

Bella was fighting through an enormous block. Her face had gone completely red, and she was shaking where she stood. She had to choke it out through different parts of her throat. “You should—WE should—kick—them—in the BALLS!”

She nearly collapsed from the effort. Bella fell backwards against Jules’ chest, exhausted and overcome. Cass felt unwell too. Kicking a—she circled around the thought, but the Virus was adamant it not be considered. It was inappropriate for women to think. Cass had to replay the moment in her head, as a memory, to get anywhere. Kick a man in the balls! It was so hard to—she had to—

“Can we—I mean—we’re GOING to listen to Rammstein in the car,” Bella said, craning her neck around. She was slurring her words from the effort.

Jules winced, right before she could look at him. “Of course, my Corolle,” he said.

“Okay, okay, good work today, girls,” Owen said. He’d put his arms around her. All the men had—their girls were overcome, tired, the mental effort of envisioning violence towards men far too much for fragile female brains. Bella was almost ed out, her legs limp in Jules’ arms. Her long, graceful neck flopped about, against his chest. All three girls were panting, hearts racing. “Lets take it easy. We’ve got a lot of bowling to do in a few days. See you there.”

Lick lick. From her bowl. Cass let herself be led away. She felt safe and protected.

Her legs were out. Not just out but on display.

They were long legs. Part of being slowly conquered and chipped away by an obedience virus was a hyperconsciousness of how men perceived her. It was kind of interesting in a morbid way—Cass felt a lot less self-conscious about her face, about the interplay of her features. The size of her nose, the cast of her chin, men didn’t care about that stuff, so why would she? Men cared about the size of her tits and the swell of her ass. If she had a pimple, it would eventually go away. Forget the shape of her eyebrows, was her pussy shaved?

It was not, and she had to fight off feeling bad about that.

The skirt went against every piece of advice she’d gotten from her Alone Together Youtube videos. It was an eggshell blue. It didn’t ride a lot north of the knee, but it did have a flare to it—some trick of the fabric. It told the world she was a girl, a girly-girl, she was a woman, a female, a lady, there were hips in there, her plump and grabbable rear.

She’d been advised by Miss Andry to be the embodiment of sexless. The greyest possible sweats, frumped up like a spinster aunt.

But... Saph had strongly advised otherwise, and it felt RIGHT. SO right, and when Owen’s eyes slipped from ankle to leg to knee to thigh, emphasis on thigh, it felt even better. She’d worn boring undies, at least. And still had a proud muff.

This was a strategy, she told herself not just a way to get fucked by male eyes. Saph had said, why does he care about you?

It had dug in deep. Why did Owen care about her? Did he care about her? She didn’t really care, Cass told herself. They were on the same life raft, tossed together. They would work rationally to survive. It didn’t matter what her legs looked like, it didn’t matter if he looked at her, wanting her, wanting to have her...

Cass was kind of proud how long her legs were.

“OH my god I’m SO hungry,” she said, striding in for their first field trip. The class had their own booth along a wall, and someone had ordered tons of bowling alley trash food. French fries, bad pizzas, nachos, others. Cass had been starving all week. So were the other girls, apparently—both were inhaling snacks. “I don’t know what it is. My stomach is a hole.” She plunked down, relieved. It was embarrassing to accept her Mom’s food—she knew where those hands had been—but Cass was famished.

“You know what this—ummmmm—is—” Bella said. She wore the exact same outfit, two days later. There was no way it had been laundered. It was possible to smell her, unwashed and bacterial, even through the greasy haze. “It’s—now that we’re attached. Technically attached. Our bodies are—ermmm—” More nachos went into Bella. She licked each finger. “On overdrive. We’re being shaped, for our men. Filled out. Like we’re pool toys they just bought. These nachos are way better than they should be.”

Oh. Right. Didn’t she know that? Had the virus hid it from her?

Cass felt her hunger pall, just for a moment, and then return in full force. Now she was ravenous. Her body needed fuel, to become more sexy for her man. She had to grow bigger tits, and butt, and thighs, and she needed energy. To obey men. She picked up a french fry and regarded it with suspicion. This was the enemy.

She ate it anyway. And then another handful.

“It’s—” Melody’s dainty lips were also fully occupied. “Fine. It’s like the last thing to worry about. You can also use the nutrition to—ummm—” she stopped talking to inhale a pretzel. All of it, and all the salt. Of course, it was easy for her, her body. Cass was already too shapely for comfort. “—rebel. And have complicated, intelligent thoughts. Go to Harvard.”

“Go to Harvard!” Bella laughed out loud. Cass took the opportunity to dip into the quesadillas. She really needed to stop—it was going right to her thighs. Owen didn’t need to look at her thighs, but if he wanted to... “Yeah, right after we open our girl assassin agency.”

“I’m going to Harvard, now,” Melody said, stiffly. “I’m going now. Online. There’s a scrubbed lecture series. And you know what’s interesting? I retain it all. ALL of it. A man is saying it. There’s lab studies where women are performing calculus that they didn’t even know how to do, because a man ordered it.”

“What, like, a guy says, solve the pythagorean theorem, from first principles, and we’re eager to obey?” Cass said. It was hard to feel like they were on the precipice of female mental acuity, especially in a bowling alley. There were two girls on staff, and they were wearing the popular new kind of collar, the kind that buzzed and played a loud message if someone tried to take them off-premises. They wore identical orange shorts that were very, very short and tight.

“Hao is very okay with it,” Melody said, earnestly. “I told him anyone can get a pet. He’s going to have a Rhodes Scholar. That’s why he calls me Elephant. Because I never forget. I figured you were wondering why he called me Elephant.”

“We were wondering,” Bella said.

Melody, with big tits, Cass thought, watching Melody turn her attention back to french fries. What was that going to look like? Was it INEVITABLE? She was feeling dangerously attached to Owen. It was getting harder to think about other topics. Part of the problem was she didn’t have a ton of hobbies. Not getting enslaved was her hobby.

“What do you want to do, Bella?” she said. “With like, the rest of her life.”

“I’m going to work up my mental stamina,” Bella said, “and then I’m going to m—mmmm—” she puffed her cheeks. She had such very white cheeks. “MURDER Jules.”

The frisson of it was less, this time around. She didn’t actually mean it. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked around for her man, reassuring herself that he was alive. And hadn’t heard her.

“He said he’s fine with it,” Bella added, quickly. “He said he’d be proud of me. Getting killed by a crusty girl punk would be an amazing way to go, he says. He says just by not showering I’m impressing him. He calls me his Garbage Pail Kid.”

She smiled quietly, and glanced over, to where Jules was picking out a bowling ball. The man had found a vintage bowling shirt, with loud vertical stripes, for the occasion. It looked like he had custom bowling shoes. “He’s half-French,” Bella said, proudly.

“What about you, Cass? What’s in your Person Notebook?” Melody said. That was a common technique, for girls trying to hold tight to a particular personality, for whatever reason. Write it down. Return to it. Make sure the bright girl on the page matched the ass-heavy dumb slut you currently were.

“Bare minimum stuff,” Cass said. “Stick to the same name you were born with, or at least pretty close. No collar, no cuffs. No cleaning the floor with your tongue, no kneeling by the door, waiting for him to get home. Normal. I want to be Normal Girl.”

“Boring,” Bella said. “You want to be boring.”

Cass bristled. “Is that like, unreasonable? Look, if I’m not getting spitroasted on weekdays I’ll be pretty fucking unusual. I think boring is impressive.”

Bella shrugged.

Boring Cass, Cass thought. She stirred a french fry in ketchup. It had bothered her. Tedious Cass. She tried to eat her way through virus discomfort. Owen hadn’t said he wanted an exciting and unusual dynamo, taking classes at Harvard while wearing black leather. It was very likely he’d be fine with her, especially if she got really good at stroking his dick. No. Not that. She’d just... thank him a lot. Write him thank you cards. He’d SAID he wanted a princess in the tower. Why couldn’t she just, believe him? Believing a man was supposed to be her main talent.

A group of four men were a few booths away. They’d grabbed their beers from the serving girl, and decided, also, to have fun with her. Her job was to distract whoever it was bowling down the alley. For starters, by shucking her shorts and spreading her asshole as wide as she could at the man in line. The man didn’t seem to notice. He bowled a strike. Prime pink asshole didn’t excite, these days.

“Alright, we’re set,” Owen said, walking up in his bowling shoes. They were nicer than his normal ones, Cass forced herself to think. “Girls vs. Boys. Cy said that he’s running late, go ahead and bowl. You girls need more food? I ordered a lot, I know.”

OWEN had ordered it? Cass’ stomach barked at her, ready for more. She’d worked hard to keep her calorie consumption down. She’d slept on her chest, that most time-honored method of trying to keep boobs from growing. She’d done lots of exercises in her room. She’d gotten her weight down enough that her collarbone was proudly visible. She was not going to be her Mom, who was all curves and handles, and so easy to pinch and play with.

She stuffed more fries in her mouth. A few booths away, the girl was instructed to lick the next bowler’s shoe, while he bowled.

“Another incredible throw by a girl,” Bella said. She even flashed the guns, patting each bicep individually. “Bang bang bang. Title Nine lives on in BELLA!”

It was a little bit much.

It had started well enough. Their instructions were to strut, and they were strutting. To have big, showy, oversized personalities. Even Melody had shrugged off her cardigan to reveal a tight blue dress. On her it was straight vertical, up and down, but Hao seemed to like it, and there was definitely room for a ton of french fries to get to work.

Cass had kept her sweater on, but the blue poodle skirt was a hit with Owen. She was so hyperaware of his eyes. Given a pencil and a piece of paper she could probably trace everywhere they had been, especially when they lingered on the upper slopes of her thighs.

Not that she cared. Not that she deeply cared.

Cass was striving for a synthesis of techniques. Saph had made good points. They were Attached To Men, there was no more fading into the wallpaper, becoming a mushroom, unnoticed by males. But it was still ultimately kayfabe, right? She wore this skirt—tactically. She had to show him just enough thigh, and no more. The battle in her heart would rage on, the ceaseless war against the virus within her, against that part of her that glowed when he glowed, that wondered if he was thirsty, that wanted to sit in his lap and preen and gush when he bowled a strike. And that was fine. That was the war she had trained herself to fight.

Let his fingers dance along her thighs, and see how smooth and sleek they were. Stick his hand between them. If his hand was warm that was nice, if it was cold, she’d warm it...

She looked over, again. She couldn’t stop staring at him.

Was he looking at her neck?

“Technique!” Melody said, fist pumping. They were kicking the men’s asses. It was a slaughter. The girls were indifferent bowlers, but their men were—were—

She forced herself to think it—they were bad at sports.

Owen had never played a single sport. In truth—she awarded herself some Resistance Points—he wasn’t even a very special trombone player. There was no manual dexterity there.

(She could find out, she thought. See what those fingers could do, hitched up her skirt. Sliding down her panties. No.)

Jules had the wrist strength of a post-rain worm, and Hao consistently puffed his cheeks, squared his shoulders, and threw the ball so hard it slammed hard against the wood.

“Are you boys throwing the match?” Cass said, as lightly as she could. “Did Cy have you do this, an important lesson about respect for girls, bolster our self-confidence?”

The boys didn’t appreciate the comment. She could tell when a joke fell flat with men. She could REALLY tell. It felt like she’d stuck her face into cold green slime.

“We’re authentically bad,” Jules said. He even had a smooth voice. “We’re genuine.” He extended his hands, gracefully, and then stared at them. “We are very sincerely terrible at the art of bowling.”

“Beat by a GIRL!” Bella said. She lifted up her arms. There, shockingly, was a full tuft of armpit hair. It took Cass a moment to that was not a felony offense. “A nastyyyyy girllllllllll with body hairrrrrrr.”

But she ended the display by rocking her hips back and forth, and an adorable, timid smile, and withdrew her arms quickly.

“That’s a controlled substance under there,” Hao said, elbowing Jules. “You can shave and sell it.”

Jules shrugged, and favored her with a tight little smile. He didn’t like it, Cass thought. He’s tolerating it. And where does that go?

“Who is up?” Cass said. “Owen? Lets go, Owen!”

She meant it with 100% sincerity, so it was a terrible feeling to turn and see his eyes ice over, his lips fade into a grim line. She’d put too much expectation on him, and he was sure he was going to fail. And she’d done that.

Submission pounced. It was fueled up with nachos and french fries, and saw opportunity.

It was all Cass could do to avoid groveling on the floor. Her forehead wanted to scratch the polished wood, smell the ancient canvas of a million bowling shoes. She’d put a man into a disadvantageous social position, RIGHT after making a bad joke, at male expense. She’d embarrassed him. Not just any man, but Owen. It was obvious to Cass, as much as she was fighting it, that he was HER man. No—that wasn’t it. She was his. And she’d put ten eyes on his inevitable gutterball.

Cass wanted to crawl into the alley and die, by the pins. She tried to fight through the sudden waves of horrified regret. It was all virus. All virus, she had to that. Owen was a big boy, he could handle tossing a bad bowling ball with new acquaintances. This was—it was—it was FAR too strong a reaction. It was the submission virus, that was all it was. Her desire to be collared, cuffed, and choked, whatever would make it right, was the viral need worming its way in. So that when he took her from behind, hopefully forcefully, laid that first hand on her as a possession, she’d feel tremendous relief.

Although—if he could just—bowl a decent frame—

Cass watched Owen immediately bowl into the gutter. Both shoulders drooped.

“You’ve been mathematically eliminated, boys,” Melody said. She was trying to sound playful about it, and failing.

“She’s Harvard-trained,” Hao said, to his fellow men. “Re EVERYTHING.”

He didn’t sound pleased.

“Girls, lets—” Cass tried to center herself.

The girls stared at each other, horror-struck. They’d won. They’d beaten the men.

It felt awful. Bella covered her mouth with her hands, appalled. Why had they—beaten the men? What possible reason could there be for that?

Virus, it was the virus, it wasn’t her wanting to lay her head in Owen’s lap, lick him by way of apology. They were just bowling. She was being adorably assertive. Playful. He’d see that. Soon. She took a deep breath, she stared at her feet. She was wearing cute white sneakers. Looking away from men helped. She was being normal, damn it. The virus was the weird one. “Bathroom! Lets all go to the bathroom and—start over!”

She forced herself to her feet, surrounded by morose men. Nearby, the other boys were having a lot of fun with their waitress. They were using her as a table, and making a pyramid of beer cans on her back.

“You feel awful too, right?” Cass said, her voice shaking. “Like—I knew the virus was getting into me, but all we did was win at bowling and I feel like we threw a sack of cats into a river. My entire body is—regretful. My toes are regretful.”

“It’s a good pain,” Bella said, hugging herself tight. “We’re learning. They’re learning. Utter blackness is how I want to feel. I do.”

“It’ll ,” Melody insisted. “It’ll FUCKING .”

Girl’s bathrooms were inviolate by law. They were intended as sanctuaries. Where possible they had been soundproofed. That also meant that men rarely bothered to have them cleaned, or even order a girl to do so. The stalls looked encrusted shut, and the three of them could nearly smell the rust, among other things. One of the sinks slowly dripped red-tinted water.

“It’s good. They’ll respect us more for that,” Cass said. She hugged herself, in her leathers. “All the big personality we have. They’ll like it.”

The girls muddled around, coping.

“He likes that I go to Harvard?” Melody said, eventually. The question mark snuck in right at the end. “Right?”

Solutions rolled in from the ball return in Cass’ mind. She’d fix up her makeup, roll up her skirt three inches, and go out there and bowl the absolute worst game of her life. She’d titter and fall into his lap. She’d grind down hard on his cock. She wouldn’t even notice he couldn’t bowl, because who cared about bowling. And then he’d forgive her, or at least spank her forgiven.

“We gotta—go beat them again,” Cass said, through another wave of recriminations. “Oh lord. Is it always going to be like this?”

“We could—” Bella brightened. “If they beat us, they can get one little command. A little one. Because they won’t beat us. Like, they can cop a feel, that level.”

The girls liked this idea, a lot.

“Yes!” Melody nodded her head. “That’s good. I’m—I’m glad we met. We motivate them, with the idea of touching our bodies, all over, rubbing us, and then when—”

“Girls!” the voice had command in it. It was a voice that could make them do naked jumping jacks.

It was a man.

Cass turned, and drank him in. Flannel shirt, a jawline that could’ve just been the lighting, tousled brown hair. He had his hands in his back pockets. Not one of the men from the other bowlers. He smelled like rough cologne. That was a cheap male trick, adding coded boy scents to get a little boost in obedience. He smelled like a chemical campfire.

It worked.

“Line up for me, girls. Inspection. Don’t be scared, ladies!”

The flannel shirt was fire engine red. Another little obedience trick, strong colors.

And it worked. The girls got into a line.

It was Cass’ first real Order.

She’d read about it a lot. Early on, she’d expected to feel like a puppet. A prisoner in her own body, being moved about. She’d expected to strain against her own muscles, a enger, helpless as they obeyed. Banging against the walls.

But her reaction was the same as every other female.

Pleased relief, that was what it was. A calm, subdued feeling. Someone was in charge of her now, and thank god. No more decisions, or stress, or expectations. She was in his care. The videos had talked about this. She’d move her own arms and legs. She’d open her own mouth. She’d do it naturally and smoothly. She’d be cooperative. She would obey and submit, not sullenly, coerced, but willingly. Happily. Joyfully.

And she was. Cass got herself in line.

The only surprise, now that the moment was finally there, was how fast the lingering negative emotions cleared from her system, replaced by gentle ease.

This was the worst moment of her life, Cass recognized, calmly and happily. She wanted for her next order.

“I’m not even sure what I’m looking at here,” Flannel said, examining them. “Hey, no worries, girls! Just a very small amount of fun! Misdemeanors, not felonies!”

He paraded back and forth in front of the three of them. A ringer for Cy, Cass thought, hopefully. If she concentrated, she could keep just a tiny bit of self-awareness lit up, in a part of her brain she didn’t normally use. Cy had sent in a ringer. Their men would bust in and roust the interloper, the rustler. That’s what this was. It just had to be. It was a test for the men. A bonding exercise.

The virus tamped down on this rebellion. Cass waited for her next order, mouth open.

“Truth or dare, blue dress,” Flannel said.

Melody’s eyes fluttered. Cass felt a note of jealousy. It should be HER getting roughly told what to do.

“D-dare,” Melody said.

“Ooh, I like that,” Flannel said. “Hmm.” He put a hand out to where Melody’s boobs would be, if she had any. He waved his hand experimentally, to see if they’d appear. “Blue Dress, I can’t help but notice there’s no tits here. Say, yes sir, sorry sir.”

“Yes sir! Sorry sir!” Melody said. She looked very regretful. “Sorry I don’t have nice big tits!”

“S-stop?” Bella said, and then started to cough. Loudly, loudly as she could. RIght. Be loud, tell the men something was wrong. Her phone was in her jacket pocket, wasn’t it? But she was—she’d been told to get in line, not to use her phone... She’d been told everything was fine...

“Quiet, stinky metal girl,” Flannel said. “Alright, blue dress. Now, I’m going to speak directly to your pituitary gland now. Is it listening?”

“Uh,” a hint of Melody appeared. “The submission virus physical development response is well-observed but the mechanisms are—”

“Okay, wow, smart,” Flannel said, chuckling. “Yeah. It’s listening. Gland. Grow this girl some tits. Huge fucking tits. Big as her head. What we’re seeing here is pathetic. I want some big naturals on this chest and I want it soon. Nice mouthwatering tits, don’t forget the nipples. Alright! Loud one, metal girl. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Bella said, loudly. Very loudly. Cass reached her hand up, slowly. No need to tell herself why she was doing it. She gripped her phone. Could she call Owen, on touch alone? But why would she? She had to LISTEN. She was being a BAD GIRL.

“You. Need to shave and shower,” Flannel said. “I mean, that’s obvious, god. I’m doing community service here. What’s the plan, be a female skunk? Eat garbage and hope men avoid you?”

“Um,” Bella said. She stared at her feet. But it was a command. “Yes. That’s exactly the plan. It’s—that’s the plan. I was scared of being sexy so I thought... be smelly. Thank you for exposing my plan, sir.”

“Perfume. You love perfume now. You love it. You hate going outside without it. The girlier the better.”

“I... like...”

Bella’s eyes opened wide. She was absorbing a big one. She was very pretty when shocked. Cass could tell what was happening—she was reaching deep, to spit defiance, to tell him she liked smelling like bacteria and rebellion, and it was gone. Cass tapped on her phone. The phone icon was HERE, wasn’t it? And the last person she’d called was Owen, right?

But she felt so GOOD...

“Hmm. What’s a good name for you? You’re just.. girl. What fun name should I give you, regular girl?”

The man was right in front of her, now.

Don’t tell him your name, Cass thought. Don’t. But her knees were wobbling. If he renamed her it would be sweet bliss.

“I’m Cass,” she said.

Partial disobedience, the virus judged.

“No, no, play along,” the man said. “You’re poodle skirt. Poodle. Truth or dare, poodle?”

She wanted to tell him everything. No, some dumb dare? But he wasn’t even daring them, just giving commands...

“Truth,” Cass heard her mouth say.

“Truth! What’s your biggest fear, Poodle?”

That was an easy one. “Turning into my Mom. She’s the biggest slut in town. She’s fucked everyone.”

Flannel cocked his head. “Wait, is your Mom... Alyssa Thompson?”

God damn it, Mom, Cass thought.

Flannel laughed, and seemed legitimately shocked.

“This is Alyssa Thompson’s DAUGHTER here? I didn’t even know she had a kid! The Alyssa Thompson who leads the July 4th parade? And the Christmas parade, now that I think about it? That’s really funny. So you must already have the big titty genes, huh?”

Flannel licked his lips. Here it came. She was so excited. She was going to be told, be sluttier than your Mom. If that was even possible.

“Okay then, puppy girl...”

“Hey!” Owen said.

And then louder—“HEY! This is—what the FUCK are you doing to our GIRLS?”

Flannel turned. It wasn’t just Owen. Hao and Jules were there.

They looked extremely unhappy, although Jules did it in an ineffably cool way. Hao seemed to be boiling, his head about to burst into flames.

They were turning into men right in front of her. It was an incredible transformation. They were doing it the old-fashioned way, via sexual violence. All three of them were doing something they’d never done before, steeling themselves to hit someone, and kick them, and hurt them. It was a visual change, the way Owen kept his back straight, his shoulders set, filling in the size that puberty had granted him with something substantial. All their anger, and power, and energy, the muscles built into their upper arms, into their necks, all of it, coming together to beat the shit out of a guy who had dared to challenge them for their women.

Cass’ legs felt like a rubber hose. It was impossible to hold on to High School Owen in her head, the nasally band geek. This was a men ready to fight for his woman, and that, plus the shock of her new orders, was setting her reserve on fire. She felt like property, actual property, for the first time. In front of her was a vicious strength that she could never have. It was toxic masculinity, true, and the virus loved it, squealed and danced, wanted it to grip her face, and possess her. The men were fighting for her, emphasis on “the men”.

He’s your white knight, Cass offered, weakly. He’s your soldier.

He’s your OWNER, the virus told her.

“Oh,” Flannel said. He smiled, affable. “Nothing. I was just telling your girls how lucky they were to suck your dicks. Little present for you sweethearts, from me to you.”

“Girls, is it true, what this guy said?” Owen said.

WAS it true? It was a bad question, Cass would think, much later. Owen should’ve asked for a recapitulation of events. Instead he asked a bunch of silly girls if something a man had told them was true, which was like asking a fish to describe water. Yes, it was true. That was what Submission did, first and foremost. There were little sparks and embers around the edges, that a spirited girl could work with. But the brand in the middle of her head was absolute. If a man said it, it was true.

“Yes,” Cass said, and Melody and Bella nodded. She did feel lucky to suck Owen’s dick. Her rebellious side was not just sidelined but atomized. Blown apart. There were four aggressive males around her, ready to fight, and she had as much agency as the soap dispenser. The virus was screaming in her bloodstream: obey, submit, belong. Puppy girl, it told her. Who had said that? Someone male...

“Excuse me,” Flannel said. He took a step towards the exit. “My work here is done. Enjoy your blowjobs.”

“No, no,” Owen said. He glanced back at the other two. “I don’t think so. I think we have to beat the shit out of you.

“We do,” Hao said.

“You’re a rustler. We were JUST learning about you,” Jules said.

“It’s not like that,” Flannel said, chuckling nervously. “These are your first girls, right? I was getting them warmed up for you. You’re their owners, right? Just stick a cock in their mouth, slap them around if you like, they’re all yours again. All that top alpha male dog stuff is bullshit.”

“Nope. I looked it up. If we want to be the absolute, unquestioned, giver of orders, we have to—hit you.” Owen said. He stretched his fingers out. “A lot. I know its stupid. But you were—you came in the BATHROOM. You tried to STEAL them—steal Cass—why? Just because? Is that really how it is?”

He was furious, for her. Or at himself?

Cass watched him closely. The men were fighting over her, and she could feel her thighs getting drenched. Her body was getting her ready to fuck. Distantly, a long time ago, she’d learned about this as extreme danger. When she was so drizzled with submission that all she could do was be an animal, put her ass up for the dominant male. She had to... present her sex? No.

Flannel put his hands up. Owen was more manly, Cass thought. It was already easier to think mean things about Flannel. He was short. If he did have a jaw line, which he did not, the grease from his forehead would pool there, forming deposits.

Seeing no way to escape a beatdown, Flannel still found a way for some self-respect.

“I guess I was just surprised some men were still dumb enough to leave their girls unwatched,” Flannel said.

Owen threw the first punch of his life. It was a sad effort, and he barely even got his fist together. But Cass, starry-eyed, only saw the positives. First, he’d gone for a body blow, not breaking his knuckles on the man’s slippery nose. Second, he let Jules and Hao shoulder past on either side. And he was just bigger than the other man. Bigger and sexier and wonderful.

She was feeling very, very obedient.

Woof woof, puppy girl thought, flushed. Cass felt dizzy. She wanted to pant and slobber on him. Where had that come from?

“Girls, get behind us,” Owen said. Meanwhile, Hao slammed Flannel to the ground, and Jules moved in to kick him.

“Okay, well, not what I had planned, and I’m sorry again about how that panned out. But hey! I think we all learned a lot today,” Cy said. He clapped his hands together.

The plan HAD been, apparently, for Cy’s nephew to show up, toss some insults at the ladies, and force the men to defend their girls. That nephew sat next to Cy, upstaged. Flannel sat by himself over near the snack bar, miserable. He had cotton stuffed up both nostrils, to stem the bleeding. He also had a black eye, and Hao especially had added a number of lumps to the back of his head.

After knocking him over the trio hadn’t been quite sure what a beatdown even looked like. Owen and Jules had settled for just kicking him on the floor for awhile. Hao, however, had comprehensively beat the crap out of Flannel, and had erased any doubts of his masculinity from Cass’ mind. In retrospect she’d probably just been racist.

The girls had been all three very impressed. VERY impressed. Cass kept trying to do recentering exercises, to reassert her personality, and not getting anywhere. He’d been so manly. She’d been so ive. It had been a great experience.

“You men had to stand up for yourselves and your girls, and you did. Nephew, you learned to show up on time if you want to earn a hundred and fifty dollars. And that guy over there learned not to try and steal three women in a place with no exits from three men. So we all learned something.”

“I learned a lot about kicking a man in the balls,” Jules said. Bella sat right next to him. She sniffed both wrists, and frowned.

All the girls were immediately up against their men, and Cass felt like she might never leave his line of sight again. At Cy’s direction Owen had given her a standard “hey, good news, nothing traumatized you just now” instruction, and she was obeying it. She was obeying like crazy. She was immersed in it—her own fragile femininity, his strength, the scent of him, the endorphin rush of orders...

Her MAN.

“So what did we girls learn?” Melody said, sitting in Hao’s immediate shadow. It was funny how their androgyny was already erased, Cass thought. She was his girl, and Hao was her man. The spark plug of raging manliness named Hao had knocked Flannel all the way over, and slammed his head on the gross filthy tile floor. He was still bristling with fury, and ready to try new moves on Flannel.

“You didn’t learn anything!” Saph broke in. She stood up, and glared at them. She wore a complete throwback 50s greaser outfit, including a red ribbon scarf, putting Cass’ poodle skirt to shame. “You went to the bathroom by yourself, stupidly, your men had to save you, and have any of you, ANY of you, said THANK YOU? THANK YOU? MEN? FOR KEEPING ME OUT OF SLAVERY?”

She threw her hands up. “How do you think this works!” she yelled, to the entire bowling alley.

It stung.

“That’s my girl,” Cy said, happily. “Well, for now.”

Cass turned to Owen. He was hurting too—he had three bleeding knuckles, and his shirt was red with blood, partly his own. Cass had tried to help, tying his own handkerchief over the scrape.

She also felt a strange, strong urge to lick his face.

Cass put her hands over his, squeezed them tight. She couldn’t tamp down the fire anymore. It had been lit in her heart. They were the two of them together in all of this, this new world of men and women. She trusted him now, Cass thought. Even leaving aside her leaky, quivering thighs, her strong urge to sniff his armpits, there was something deeper that had settled in. Something so rare and precious. She believed in him. He was a man who would do right by her, the rarest gem. He really was a knight, her awkward assistant band director. Lancelot, Galahad, Percival, all in one.

“Thank you,” she said, to his deep, hurt eyes. He had blood spatter all over, from swinging his fist around, while his heart beat wildly. “Thank you so much.”

She ventured something she’d never given a man.

Something she hadn’t known she had to give. A smile with all her heart in it. Submission poured through her, pure and true this time. This, this was different from the tawdry, lewd version of submission, where she got on her knees. This was objectively rational. He had defended her, saved her life, or at least her personality, from a bad man, and he was over six feet tall. She would give him what was in her power to give—her trust, her belief in a man. She couldn’t think of a better—

“NOT ENOUGH, girls!”

“Eh?” Cass looked at Saph, who was glowering, enraged. The other two girls, also involved in some variety of heart-felt thank you, also looked flustered, confused.

“Not enough!” Saph insisted. Along with her leather jacket and period-correct scarf she also wore an ultra-short skirt that, if she had been bowling, would’ve displayed her panties with every follow-thru. She stamped around by the bowling line, underneath the scoreboard monitor, still displaying their brief, pointless victory over men. “I know what this is. I’m unsurprised. You are trying to be chaste and virtuous maidens. Lots of winsome smiles and all that.”

She shook her head at their stupidity.

“You know where that ends up leading? Your men, I don’t care how NICE he is, gets FED UP with being the only guy in town not getting tail, he bends you over a couch, and shoves his cock up your ASS.”

Owen put his hand up. Saph waved it off, irritable.

“Boys, this advice is is for the girls. No, these men saved you, you are going to REWARD them. They are going to feel like it was a good deal, keeping you out of slavery. They are NOT getting a peck on the cheek. Frankly, girls, this kind of rescue would’ve rated at LEAST a blowjob BEFORE the virus, and now prices have gone up. Alright? ALRIGHT?”

She turned, and looked at the score on the screen.

“AND you beat them bowling?” she said.

The rescuees did not say anything. Wasn’t it your idea, Cass thought, and didn’t say. Where had Big Personality gone? But her head was buzzing too strongly to think long thoughts, much less talk. Owen lowered his hand, but Melody put hers up.

“Um,” she said. “Don’t we run a serious risk of sexually imprinting and becoming submissive and docile? If we—if we lick—” her cheeks went crimson. “Lick our male’s p- penis.”

Their teacher shrugged. “Figure it out,” she snapped. “That’s your homework. Class dismissed.”

“So, you’re alright?” Owen said, once they were in his car.

“Oh, sure, I mean, did you see my bowling?” Cass said. “I was light’s out. Straight down the middle, strikes and spares.”

“No, I—”

“I know. I thought it’d be nice if I could... make jokes. As a person,” Cass said. There was too much buzzing in her. The right thing to do would be to spend four or five hours centering herself, trying to work out what was her, what was new intended or unintended orders, and what was the persistent beating of the Virus.

He stopped her, and looked at her. Cass had an inkling of what he was thinking: what is happening inside of this... person? Was that the right word?

“Tell me how you’re doing,” Owen ordered her.

In the moment before it settled inside of her, nestling in her heart, an Order felt good. It gave Cass a euphoric thrill. A delicious warm flash. And from Owen, especially so. Melody was right, she was imprinting on him. She wanted to wag her tail for him...

“I’m okay!” she insisted. He had put his hand on her shoulder. “That’s a—a good thing about all—we’re hard to shock. We meaning, girls. It’s like, yeah, sure, I thought I was getting renamed and enslaved, but then I wasn’t, so it just... slides off.” Cass tapped her head. “I don’t think there’s room for trauma. It gets in the way of, I don’t know, blowjob instructions. So that’s good. How I’m doing is, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Blowjob instructions,” Owen repeated. They made their way to his old car, together. Owen seemed older. Was it the weight of the world, the responsibility to protect, or was it how much hotter he was, after beating up a lesser man? He was SO hot, Cass had to it. She’d watched him subdue and pound a failure of a man, an attempted rustler, and it had been the sexiest thing in the world. She owed him her trust, her life, her mouth. She wanted to suck him off.

He started the car. It took a few tries. The other couples were still making their way through the parking lot. Melody was walking three steps behind Hao, and Bella was rigid, nearly doubled over, clearly uncomfortable.

“You’ve changed, Cass. High School Cass would’ve... had a harder time nearly getting taken over, in the bathroom.”

“I know,” she said. “Sorry. Its this all-consuming sex virus. I’m trying really hard.” Cass watched Bella get in and immediately roll down her window. “You’ve changed too.”

“Have I? I feel... like that’s not possible.” Owen said. “There’s too much going on to change.”

He was wearing the same poor-quality clothes as before. T-shirt, jeans, awful shoes. And now they were knight’s gear. They were spattered with his blood. You don’t know how to clean blood out of clothing, the virus reprimanded her. You’re a bad slave. You don’t even know how to vacuum.

“You were heroic! You beat a guy up in a bathroom. You’ve got—skinned knuckles. You’re bloody, protecting me. You’re tall, if nothing else! Give yourself a little credit.”

“Should I, though? I’m just.. getting in a fight over property, right?” Owen said. “It’s just how the world works now. It’s not like, irable. It’s dark. It’s really dark.”

He wasn’t looking at her. “If you’re not the High School Cass, who do you think you ARE?” Owen said.

I’m the property, Cass thought. No. I’m whoever you want me to be. She shook her head. It couldn’t be that. Still, even after fighting off the virus answers, Cass wasn’t sure what to say. I live in a small room and watch a very small number of videos, and I’m growing your tits out, she thought.

He was starting to think about it, Cass thought. It was becoming real, owning her. Owning a person. Owning her. She’d given him her trust, but that was nothing. She had much, much more she could give. Every single piece of herself, if she wasn’t super careful.

“I can still play the flute,” Cass offered. “I can probably learn a little housework without it being... too much. I can walk your dogs. Do you still have the dogs?”

“I do still have the dogs,” Owen said. “Oh yeah. You’ve been to my house, haven’t you?”

“Twice,” Cass said. “Group projects. You didn’t ?”

I wasn’t worth ing, she thought.

They both gazed out at a nearly empty parking lot. There wasn’t a lot of bowling going on. Why go bowling, when a man could stay home and have his cock sucked, for free? Or have his girl put on a little show for him, dancing and singing? She’d cook and clean and cuddle, and it cost nothing...

“Oh. Oh! Fuck, do you see Melody?”

Melody was obviously blowing Hao.

Hao drove a nice new-model BMW. He was stretched back in the driver’s seat, and, bobbing up and down, diligent, still wearing her glasses, was his fiancee. There she was, sexually imprinting, Cass thought. She had to be taking his entire dick, all the way to the back of her throat. This was no beginner blowjob, nervously licking at the drippy ice cream cone of his cock. This was a face-fuck.

Melody was very grateful to her boyfriend.

She sniffed. There was a new scent in the car. The virus pounced on it, gleeful, and shook it around on the inside of her head. This was the smell of Owen’s arousal. His awakened cock. This was the scent of his blood pounding, wanting to thrust and cum. It was overwhelmingly potent. Cass understood the implications—Owen had liked Saph’s speech. He felt, guiltily, that a blowjob was adequate reward for kicking a man’s ass. Maybe even a little skimpy.

“Do you want a blowjob, Owen?” Cass said, helpless to stop herself. She at least had to know. Maybe he’d say no. “You earned it. You really did earn it.”

His hips strained upwards. He took a sharp intake of breath. He was nineteen and a girl with dark raven hair in the chair next to him was asking. He could fuck her mouth any time he wanted. She could promise him—not a single time, ever, would her teeth scrape his cock. She’d give the very best blowjob in the world.

When it was late, and after watching her rebellion videos and writing in in her rebellion journal and putting on her boring flannel pajamas, Cass often tuned in to to watch dull-eyed girls get big dicks shoved down their throats. She did have a sex virus in her, after all.

“What do YOU want, Cass?” Owen managed to say. He turned to her, and was so large, and smelled so good. He put his hands on her shoulders again, and slid his hands down to hers. Did he also want to grope her tits? She had to know. “Cass, come out and tell me. What do you WANT? Not just—I don’t want some doll wearing your clothes, okay? I’m not Jules. I don’t. I—I really don’t want—”

She gulped. “Okay. Yes. Okay. Okay! Owen...”

He looked scared of her. Or maybe just scared. He carefully took his hands off her, and put them on the steering wheel.

“Alright. So. Owen.” She had to reassure him. Deep breath, Cass, your next speech would be the most important of your life. “You—this is going to be so honest. You made me be honest with you. I think I would’ve blown you because Saph is right, and I’ve got to be practical. I would’ve blown you because of that. And you did save me and that’s hot, you look so hot right now. I would’ve blown you because you’re so fucking sexy. Also I keep smelling you and there’s this part of me now always whispering blow him, blow him, suck him off, please him, lick him. Taste him. I bet you taste so good, Owen. The virus really wants me to blow you, and the virus is part of me. So I want to blow you, really badly.”

“What would you have done? Before the virus,” Owen said. Commands. He kept commanding her, in desperation. It was all hopeless, Cass knew. Controlling her. It felt good, more warm wet rays of light from her pussy to the rest of her. But there was a window there for her pre-virus self, and she took it. Cass as she WAS made a decision.

“Handjob!” she gasped, before she could stop herself. and just from the disappointed flush in her cheeks, she knew she’d beat it out. “I would’ve given you a terrible, terrible handjob. Super awkward car handjob as like a compromise, even though I secretly wanted to suck you off. That’s what it would’ve been, from before I got the virus. The answer that makes no one happy. That’s me.”

She was gasping for breath. The wind was fully knocked out of her.

Owen thought about it.

“I think it was you,” he said, relieved. He gave her a tiny nod. She had permission to rub his dick, in a way he could interpret as non-exploitative, and that made him the good guy.

Thank god, she could touch his cock. It was very awkward to get at. He had to unzip his pants, and try to fish it through his underpants. When that didn’t work, he had to half-stand and shove down his jeans, but at least that got his dick out for her. “I think I would’ve—squeezed too hard at first,” Cass said. “And then I would’ve gotten distracted and started toying with it. Instead of just rubbing you off.”

“Good, great,” Owen said. She put her left hand around it, wobbling near the steering wheel. It was wet with precum. He was very hard. She ran her fingers down the shaft—spongy, pliable, erect. You could still blow him, the virus told her. You’re going to blow him eventually.

“I hope this is just barely adequate for you,” Cass said. She couldn’t bear to make it actually dry and uncomfortable. It had to at least be a good handjob. With her fingers slick from jizz it was easy to rub up and down, fingers gentle on the underside.

She stared at his penis, and imprinted sexually, forever. This was it, this was the penis she wanted. It meant everything to her.

“I—I don’t know,” Owen said, watching her stroke him. “Is this a mistake? Is this—who am I talking to? Cass or the virus? I don’t—”

“It’s so big, Owen.” Cass said, softly. “You’ll never know what this is like. It’s like all the parts of my brain that did religion got turned into—penis. Just looking at it feels... so good. Just the sight.” It was filling the bits of her that had to do with god. The way it pulsed in her hand, the flare at the tip. “I don’t know. We’ll never know. Maybe I would’ve been a girl who really liked dick. I definitely am now.”

Owen put his hand between her legs. Up her poodle skirt.

“Owen,” Cass demurred. “You don’t need to—” She was a girl. Pleasure was for men.

She was being stroked. Pet. Cass wanted to stick her tongue out, wag her tail. She was being stroked. The virus wasn’t sure how to feel—— the important thing was to pleasure men, but his regard for her, his interest...

“No, I don’t want to be just—pleasured—,” Owen said, searching up her skirt. He had no clue what he was doing. It didn’t matter, his fingers could’ve gone anywhere, and she would’ve been chemically rewarded. “Awkwardly searched for your pussy. That’s all Owen.”

“Y-yeah,” Cass said. “Yeah, that’s... perfect. Ohhhh. Owen.” Was this her, or was she roleplaying her past self? Who knew anymore. They were getting each other off in the car. He was just rubbing around, confused. No, she would’ve never corrected him, shown the initiative to pull his fingers to the right spot. It was better to let him fumble around with her underpants. But. Still. “Owen, that’s my urethra. Lower.”

“Sorry.”

They jerked each other off quietly and inefficiently.

“I’m—no. No, take your hand off me. Now. Now!,” Owen said. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were wide open. He was scared, Cass realized. He was very scared of all this. She snatched her hand back, still wet with precum. Owen put his own hand on his cock. He didn’t want her to make him cum.

Not yet.

The Virus saw an opening. She was slackjawed with pleasure, stupid with it, complacent and dumb. The image flitted into her happy-drizzled head, and she couldn’t fight it, had no conception of fighting. Fighting was for other people. When Owen started to cum, big pent-up squirts of hot white jizz, Cass bent her head over him, protectively. So that the second shot arced through the air and squirted all over her face. From her forehead to her chin.

And then the Virus made sure Owen saw her, blinking stupidly, face dripping with his sperm. Cheeks puffed pink with pleasure, and eyes completely vacant. It was the perfect time for her to cum, wriggling under his fingers, so she did.

Cum dripped into her open mouth. She looked: submissive, pliant, and compliant.

Asleep, she didn’t see Owen reach up, and draw, with his own cum, a collar across her throat. She didn’t see him let out a very ragged breath, and imprint on her, right back.

By the time Cass woke up he’d mopped her clean and was nearly back at her house.

Owen was still breathing very hard. He had pulled his pants up. His hands were still very taut on the wheel, his back stiff.

“I think the real Cass and the—” he faltered “—real Owen would’ve realized that was a mistake.” he said, without preamble. “You’re full of magic sex juice and I shouldn’t—I can’t do that. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“Yeah,” Cass said. “Yes.” He’d felt her pussy up. “That was—I think now I’d have a lot of unresolved personal issues about what this means about me, and our friendship,” Cass said. “And then we’d go back to being band buddies. Don’t worry about it.”

‘Yeah, well, you don’t worry about all that either,” Owen ordered her. He gave her a tepid smile. He was so big and cute. “We’ll figure this out! We will. There’s a way to make this work. I don’t know. Maybe it was... mistake is too strong. We’re going to be in each other’s private parts, right? We’re an us now. Awkward handjobs are... are you okay?”

“Thank you for saving me from the rustler,” Cass said. He was looking at her differently. She hadn’t yet realized it was because her face was still sticky, and glistening, from his cum.